


Praying For The Wicked

by Darkest_Fear22



Series: Symphony Series [1]
Category: All Time Low (Band), Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Pierce the Veil, The Academy Is..., Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Bar Owner Gerard, F/F, F/M, Family, Family Fluff, Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid Vic Fuentes, High School, Kellin is frequently mentioned, M/M, Married Couple, Nicknames, Single Parent Patrick Stump, Theatre, Trans Frank Iero, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 14:51:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15731664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkest_Fear22/pseuds/Darkest_Fear22
Summary: Brendon could hear his heartbeat in his ears, this was it, the time he could show his family what he could do and make his dad proud. And for once, he wants to make Patrick smile because of what he did, Patrick-- and the family that took him in and accepted him as theirs.The family who lives above the bar, Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge, and the café, Coffee's For Closures, had lived a quiet life for a while; they don't socialise that much to avoid suspicions, school is well for the kids and Dallon is gone to attend college.Though nothing can last forever, can't it?It was a big night in Sweet Revenge, a family moment they share, a time Brendon had anticipated. But amongst the crowd of strangers, a familiar face had surfaced.Ryan Ross is bringing more than trouble for this happy little family and high school would never be the same for both Brendon and Ryan ever again.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Wao, okay, this is the first time I wrote a Bandom fanfic. And truth be told, this is Book 09, yes, you saw that right BOOK NUMBER 09 in a series I'm working on. But, I got overly excited and this happened. Don't worry if it doesn't make sense because there's like 8 books need to be read to explain the story.
> 
> But, long story short, this story is about family, overall. To be specific, the family that lives above Sweet Revenge (a bar) and Closures (a vintage themed cafe).
> 
> Patrick (25) is a single dad with five kids; Dallon (19), Vic (16), Brendon (16), Mike (15) and Jack (15).  
> Gerard (32) and Frank (27) are married.

Running away from home was not a light subject but Brendon tries to put some light to it anyway every single time. Running away from home because you came out as an atheist  _and_ a fag in your Mormon household was not a good way to introduce himself either but that was where it all began.

Brendon Boyd Urie was fourteen when he ran away from home with his backpack full of snacks and clothes. His parents knew it was going to happen and they let him go. Long story short he didn't exactly run away but he was kicked out of his house.

Oh, did he also mentioned he decided to make music his career?

Yep. That was strike three. But being something other than a heterosexual took the whole cake.

He spent two weeks on the streets, running from one place to another, never really stopping other than for food (which was running out on the first week) and to sleep (on park benches in the cold nights).

He went from bus to bus, not paying attention where he would end up. He just wanted to stay as far from home as he can. Far enough so he could not accidentally see them anywhere while having fun as a perfect family. So he kept on running.

He ran and ran, away from the family who he thought loved him and towards his doomed future, where his so called family was happy without his stupid useless gay ass.

That was when Brendon found himself in a dark alley, at night, in front of a bar called 'Sweet Revenge'. If the glowing neon sign, blaring music from the inside and drunk customers coming out didn't yell 'bar' to him, he didn't know what it was.

The teen leaned against the stone wall behind him, trying to catch a breath. It then occured to him that running away was not as easy as he thought it would be.

°•ิ.•ஐஇஇஐ•.•ิ°

_"Come on Patty, it's time for both of us to lock up."_

_"Yeah, hold on a sec Gee, I think I saw something out here..." "Oh my god, Gee! It's a kid! Call Frankie!"_

°•ิ.•ஐஇஇஐ•.•ิ°

When Brendon woke up, he didn't expect to be on a bed. Was it a bed? Hell it was a million times more comfortable so it gotta be a bed.

Brendon opened his eyes, feeling the presence of someone standing next to the (hold on, blanket, pillow, mattress, headboard- AHA IT WAS) bed. His eyes met with a hella tall guy, even when he was lying down he could tell this mystery person was tall. He can be a giraffe.

Giraffe™ blinked at him before he ran towards the door and yelled; "Dad! The new kid is awake!"

"Your dad's downstairs," another voice replied, Brendon's memory was kinda fuzzy but he remembered that voice while he was unconscious. "I'll call him up."

Brendon took the opportunity to look around. The room was smaller than his bedroom back when he lived with his family (were they still family?). He turned his head to see an old rotting desk with a single photo frame on it. When inspected it was a picture of a guy hugging what seemed like a horse. But when he stared it was actually a unicorn.

"New kid is awake? Great, I always wanted a new one."

"Uncle Frank, I thought you love us?"

"I do love you Dallon but you also know that I love a new nephew."

A new voice appeared, this one was a deep voice, the same voice he heard back then. "Dear god Frankie, it's not like I take in every single kid I find."

"You did that to Vic and Mike," Giraffe™ said.

"They're a different story."

Brendon heard footsteps against the floorboards, coming towards the door to his room. Crap. Should he pretend to sleep? He could sneak out afterwards. Who knows what these people would do to him?

Without anymore hesitation, Brendon pulled the blanket up and pretended to be asleep.

"He went back to sleep," Giraffe™ said, a bit of disappointment in his tone

"We'll check him out tomorrow," the deep voice said. "I'll stay here and keep an eye on him."

"Are you sure dad?" So Giraffe™'s dad was the one who took him in.

"Positive, Dallon. You go make sure your younger brothers are asleep?"

There was footsteps again, walking out of the room.

"What are we going to do with this kid?"

"We have to wait when he wakes up I guess," Giraffe™'s dad said. "Go to sleep, kay Frankie?"

"Yeah, you too Trick."

He heard the door slammed shut.

"I know you're awake."

Brendon didn't open his eyes. He continued pretending.

"Also I actually have your backpack. And if you like I can make you food."

Brendon opened his eyes. Shoot! His backpack!

He noticed the person looking at him.

Oh also. Shit! His cover!

He turned to see a short man, wearing black framed glasses, an oversized red cardigan over a blue and white shirt and black skinny jeans. Okay, he expected Giraffe™'s dad to be taller.

"Hey, my name's Patrick, you?"

Brendon didn't answer.

"You can tell me later. Can you sit up?" Patrick asked.

Brendon tried to sit up, only to feel like he was hit by a baseball bat and fell back into his pillow.

"That answers it," Patrick crossed his arms. "How old are you?"

"18," Brendon lied, his voice croaky.

Patrick sighed. "Looks like you won't tell me anything, huh? I'm only trying to help Brendon Boyd Urie."

Brendon's eyes widen. How did he-?

Then he saw his ID card in Patrick's hand. Shit.

"Looks like you're the same age as Vic. Great." Blue eyes stared at him. "You better tell me why you ran away or I have to send you back to your family. Got it?"

Brendon gulped.

That happened two years ago. When he was adopted by Patrick Stump got four adopted brothers and lived with his two uncles.


	2. one of the drunks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan wants to get drunk.  
> Brendon is having stage fright.  
> Vic is trying to get comfortable with a skirt.  
> Jack and Mike is bugging their dad to sing.
> 
> All and all, this was another chaotic day for the family who lives above Revenge and Closures.

Lunchtime on a Friday, Brendon wished time went faster so he could go home. The good news was that he got music with Mr.Beckett for last period before going back to Revenge and Closures, the only teacher that didn't actually pressure him to do anything.

Brendon sat down next to Vic who was eating the leftover taco he left in the fridge from that week's Taco Tuesday. Considering their lifestyle the brothers knew better than to waste food - even when dad owned a fortune - there was no excuse.

"So I heard a certain someone is going to perform an original," Mike chimed in, sitting across them.

"Dad told you?" Brendon asked, taking out an egg sandwich from his paper bag.

"Nope, Uncle Frank did," Jack answered, sitting next to Mike and taking out his own identical paper bag. "Uncle Mikey will be there too. I'm guessing with Uncle Ray."

"Oh  _wow_ great." Brendon gulped down his saliva down his throat.

"You'll do great Bren," Vic reassured, patting his back.

"I hope so," Brendon took a bite of his sandwich, swallowing. "Can't let dad's vocal training and help go to waste."

 _"Now,_ that  _is a voice," Uncle Gee announced from his back. "Why didn't you tell us you can sing?"_

_"Oh uh, thanks," Brendon blushed at the compliment. "I didn't know I can."_

_Uncle Frank, who was teaching him, rolled his eyes. "You are becoming more and more like your dad."_

_His red-haired husband laughed while Brendon was left in confusion._

_"Tell you what," Frank leaned in towards him. "Trick is one of the best singers I know. Why don't you ask him what to do with that voice of yours?"_

"Come on, you're a natural," Vic said, finishing his taco. "You'll be fine."

"Yeah..." Brendon was silent. "Yeah, I'll do great!" He repeated, this time with more enthusiasm.

"That's the spirit," Jack smiled. Good. Brendon always loved to see his brother smile. "So... what's this song of yours called?"

"Can't tell you," Brendon sang and his brothers stuck out their tongues. No one was mentally older than ten in their family. "You guys just have to wait to find out."

"Does that mean we can watch?" Mike asked, sounding hopeful.

Brendon paused to think and then shrugged. "It's dad, pretty sure he wants to see this as a family moment." He took the last bite out of his sandwich and cleaned out the crumbs stuck on his palms. Then he thought of something. "Talking about dad, have any of you heard dad sing?"

"No," the Fuentes brothers said at the same time Jack said "Yep."

All three brothers turned to their youngest brother, looking for an explanation.

"I accidentally walked into him showering once," Jack explained and all the brothers laughed. "He was singing a song by Black Cards."

"And?" Brendon asked, not shocked by their dad's acute obsession for Black Cards, he tried to hide it but he was never good at keeping secrets.

"His voice is 24k of pure gold," Jack grinned.

The bell rang and the brothers went off to their next classes.

"See ya in three hours of hell Breadbin!" Jack said, running through the hallway. "Good luck!"

Brendon waved at his youngest brother as Jack accidentally ran into a locker door.

Yeah, just another Friday.

**°•ิ.•ஐஇஇஐ•.•ิ°**

Ryan Ross didn't know what to do. In fact, he was bored as fuck and he did not want to stay in that school any longer - he could just skip but the teachers will give him shit about it and he never want to have any type of conversations with his dad so he had to suffer a period of Chemistry with a bunch of idiots who didn't know what to do with their life.

He could ask Alex to give him a pass but Alex Gaskarth was Alex Gaskarth, loyal student body president to the school along with Kellin Quinn. No amount of friendship or money could convince them to get in trouble.

"Ryan, careful with that thing," Spencer hissed, bringing Ryan out of his inner ranting mode.

Spencer Smith was one of his childhood friends, they went to preschool together and they've been close ever since. So far Spencer and Jon were probably the only two people in this world who could deal with his bullshit and live.

"It's green," Ryan informed, looking at his test tube content carefully. No doubt it was green, the most disgusting green he had ever seen.

The class was testing for ions again, which they had done plenty of times but somehow never managed to pass, Ryan had to watch colours changing and contents shooting out from giant test tubes (it was the closest they ever got to a chemistry explosion).

"Run that test again," Ryan told Spencer trying to write up their ion evaluations on his now brown stained paper due to potassium manganate. Which was another shitty thing about Chemistry, they change colours too quickly. One minute you have a dark purple shade and then you were left with an ugly brown stain which was almost impossible to wash off.

"I thought we already settled with the final colour change?" Spencer asked, bringing a test tube to the light.

"But we have to write down all colour changes remember?"

"Oh alright, hold up."

Ryan glanced at the clock in front of them, they had fifteen more minutes till clean up time, so maybe there was a chance he and Spencer managed to pass this one practical paper.

To none of his surprise, someone already submitted theirs, done with clean up and everything. To none of anyone's surprise, the person was Victor Fuentes - someone who had an A since day one. He was pretty much the school genius, not that anyone would pick on him for being a nerd.

The teacher grabbed his paper only to smile at the answers and slide an A1 grade for the long-haired boy with short feet. "Did a good job as always Fuentes."

Ryan silently cursed at the world for born geniuses like Victor Fuentes.

**°•ิ.•ஐஇஇஐ•.•ิ°**

"I want to get wasted," Ryan told Spencer while they were cleaning up their benches. He was still struggling to get the stain off the bottom of the test tube. "Or high. Probably both."

Spencer gave him a look.

"What?" Ryan asked, looking up from his test tube, getting a small brush from his basket.

"That should be my question," Spencer said. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, I just want to get alcohol in my system."

Spencer snorted. He wasn't actually on Ryan's side with these bad decisions but Spencer didn't stop him either way. Sure, he lectures about it since he was underage or whatever but Spence knew Ryan had his dumb reasons. That was one reason why they were still friends.

"It's a Friday night Spence, come on," Ryan insisted.

"No matter what night it is, I'm still not helping you," Spencer places the wet napkin next to the sink. "My family is running low anyway. We do have cheap beer if that's what you want."

Ryan sighed. Oh great. "I just want to get drunk Spence. Won't you join me this time?"

"Nah, you're weird when you're drunk," Spencer said. "I'd rather not."

"Whatever," Ryan muttered, stomping out of the classroom.

Spencer sighed, following an angry Ryan Ross outside the hall.

"If it makes you feel better, I know a place," Spencer spoke.

Ryan turned his back, looking at his best friend with his eyebrows lowered and eyes narrowed. He dragged Spencer to the side for privacy and to prevent themselves from getting run over by the jocks.

"Someone there owes me so I'm pretty sure he can try and pitch you in," Spencer said, arms crossed. "All I need to know is that you're in or not."

"When you say a place," Ryan tried to find the words in his head, "do you mean a club?"

"A bar but they say it's a good one," Spencer justified. "And it's located in the hidden suburbs, a dark alley or something. You won't get caught by anyone from school." Spencer waited for Ryan's answer.

"Yeah sure, I'm game," Ryan said. "So what's this place called?"

"Sweet Revenge."

**°•ิ.•ஐஇஇஐ•.•ิ°**

The day was finally over.  _Finally_.

Brendon stuffed all his notes in his bag, which would most likely rot in there forever to be left forgotten. Dad would say something about it but that was for later right now he had to get back to Revenge and Closures so-

"Mr.Urie," his music teacher called while everyone in the class left. "Stay."

Brendon sighed, so much for going home early.

The teen turned to William Beckett, his music teacher who, to Brendon's whole family, was fucking with the Spanish teacher next door.

"I heard an interesting news from your parent today," Will broke his whole serious teacher facade and cracked a smile.

"What do you want Bill?" Brendon asked, hand around his backpack strap. The class was over, that meant their student-teacher formality went down to the drain until next Monday.

William gasped loudly. "That's  _Uncle_ Bill for you Breadbin."

Brendon rolled his eyes but couldn't help to laugh. "Are you going to attend?" He asked.

"We'll see, Gabe and I have some," William twirled his finger, grinning at whatever he had to do, "plans."

"It's going to be a family event I think," Brendon told, ignoring the innuendo hidden behind William's statement. "Uncle Ray and Mikey are going to be there."

"And Mikey Jr?"

"You mean Mikey the 2nd?"

William laughed. "I mean your brothers. Are they going to see?"

"Pretty sure dad allows them to sit on a table in Revenge, it's dad after all."

"Patrick never changes, does he?" William grabbed his bag from his chair. "Always putting family first, very typical of him if I must say."

There was a sad expression on William's face. He turned away quickly trying to hide it from Brendon but it wasn't fast enough. It must be about dad's husband - not that Brendon ever met him, he didn't even know his name - it was like a taboo topic for the family.

"Hey, Uncle Bill," Brendon bit his tongue, he wanted to ask about his other adoptive parent but knew it was never a good idea. He changed the topic quickly. "You know dad since high school right?"

"I attended his wedding," William said, proud. "But yes. We're not as close as we are now though."

"Then have you ever heard dad sing?"

"Your dad? He's one of the most talented people I've met!" William held his arms up high in the air, at the same time earning a surprised look from Brendon.

"Music is his virtue," William explained, hands down. "He used to be in a band in high school, wrote a lot of songs, sang a lot of them, he is a musical genius." William looked at Brendon and smiled. "I think Patrick's singing is one thing you can never forget. It has that kind of strange effect I don't know why but back then it was the dominant paradigm."

"Is he really  _that_ good though?" Brendon asked.

"You know better than doubt your dad." Brendon turned to see his Spanish teacher pacing through the classroom and casually had his arms around William.

"Hey," William said.

"Hey," the man repeated. The two pecked on the lips and Brendon pretended to gag on his own vomit.

The Spanish teacher glared at Brendon. "You better watch your attitude Urie, you owe me a late assignment and  _that's_  something you don't want your family to know."

"Yeah, sure Gabe," Brendon said. Gabe was about to correct him but the teen clarified before he could talk. "I'm not going to call you uncle. I've like five of those already. Also, do you want me to tell everyone about a certain event?" Brendon wiggled his eyebrows, a smirk stretched across his face.

"Something I should know?" William asked, looking at Gabe, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.

"No, nothing!" Gabe blurted out.

"Right... I'm going to let that slide... for now." William turned towards Brendon. "Good luck tonight B, I'll look forward to it."

"Wait, so you'll come?" Brendon asked, this time to both of them.

"Won't miss it for the world," Gabe ruffled his hair. "We'll be late but we'll be there."

"What are family for right?" William said.

"Aww, thanks, Uncle Bill!" Brendon hugged his music teacher and looked at the Spanish teacher. "And Gabe."

"When will I get the 'Uncle' title?" Gabe whined.

"When you're awesome like me," William chided.

"Hey, I'm awesome! I can speak fluent Spanish!"

"So do Vic and Mike. You're a Spanish teacher."

"I can fuck you better than anyone else."

"Can't argue with that," William kissed Gabe once more. "Breadbin, heads up!" He tossed the room keys to Brendon who caught them with both hands. "Give it to your dad later or hang it on my office door. Preferably the second option. If you're going to put on a show then you better practice Breadbin."

"I'll tell Vic that you're going home late," Gabe said, dragging William out of the class. "Surprise us B!"

Brendon waved goodbye to his two teachers. He looked at the piano that sat next to the teacher's desk.

Right, time to practice.

**°•ิ.•ஐஇஇஐ•.•ิ°**

Unlike any other subjects in school, English Literature was one that Ryan Ross could tolerate without him groaning in frustration.

It was also one of the only two subjects he aced without even trying, poetry was his talent, gift or whatever fancy vocab word you can find that was synonymous to 'blessing' while the other was music. Ryan already know how to play every single instrument that was available in Beckett's music room, the music teacher acknowledge the fact that he had a gift for that too.

Ryan never got to be the teacher's pet, however, since it was already well established in the whole school that he was an asshole inside and out. His discipline reports said so.

Ryan was analysing another page of Twelfth Night, one of the gayest plays included in the syllabus. Overanalyze everything was their motto in E-Lit class though as mentioned before, Ryan had a gift so when Spencer texted him all attentions were on his phone instead of the dog-eared page.

**Spence:** **The** **guy I know left a fake ID for u**

**Spence:** **He** **said u can get in**

"Mr.Ross, I will appreciate it if you pay attention to the text," his teacher said.

Ryan wanted to say; "Yeah, I am paying attention to the text sent to me by my friend." but that will give him detention on Saturday so he sighed and texted Spencer back quickly.

**Ryan: tell me where**

**Spence: The Spanish room. He left it under one of the tables.**

When the bell rang, Ryan didn't care about the warnings Williams shouted asking for him to stay for a while, he just went straight out of class to meet with Spencer, the mastermind of the brilliant plan. Too bad he wouldn't join in on the fun though.

Spencer was walking out of his Bio class, books still in his hands and the very exhausted expression. Ryan did not hesitate to continue walking in the same phase, dragging Spencer towards the other side of the school. If the literature room did not burn to crisp a few months ago, then it should be in the same block as the Spanish class but some idiot did ignite it into flames so they had the class move into the empty room in the science block.

"You said the fake ID is in the Spanish room?" Ryan asked once he pulled Spencer to the side.

"It's in a wallet," Spencer corrected. "He said that it's in a wallet under one of the tables. Saporta goes home a bit late all the time. The teachers won't suspect a thing as long as you are out of Gaskarth's and Quinn's sight."

"Great!" Ryan exclaimed.

"Just do not spend more than two hours there okay?" Spencer said. "And be careful."

Ryan almost laughed at his friend's concern. "Thanks but you know I can handle myself."

"Right... Don't get caught."

"Never."

They parted ways, Ryan towards the block for language and arts while Spencer goes to the exit.

When Ryan passed the now burned E-Lit class, he spotted Saporta with no one else but Victor Fuentes. The teacher's pet. Of course.

"Breadbin is going to be late?" Ryan heard Fuentes asked and  _wow_  he sounded like a girl, high pitch and all. It was interesting since he never talked that much in any class.

"Apparently," Saporta answered. "Your dad's okay if we join in the show right?"

"Come on Gabe, it's dad."

"So yes?"

"Definitely, it's a family thing. Uncle Frank likes to see him happy."

"Wonderful," Saporta said.

Ryan tried to make sense of their conversation. The only conclusion he got, however, was the fact that two Spanish speaking families know each other and Saporta was going to join them for dinner. Huh, so two families knew each other no wonder Fuentes was Saporta's pet. That would be a good rumour to spread.

"Mr.Saporta," Ryan called out. "I left something in your class!"

"Ross?" Saporta blinked and muttered a Spanish word or three that Ryan did not understand but should to Fuentes.  He then continued in English; "Grab your brothers and go home safe."

Fuentes nodded and left.

"You left something?" Saporta asked, finally paying attention to him. "You don't even have classes with me today."

"Yeah, but I did yesterday," Ryan tried.

"What did you forgot?"

"My wallet."

"That one is yours? Funny I didn't see it yesterday."

"Then you need an eye check because it was," Ryan said.

Saporta raised a brow but never got angry. "Your wallet is on my desk. The Spanish room is locked so don't even try to go there. And if there's someone in the Music room, don't bother him."

Ryan nodded. "Thanks, Mr.Saporta!"

"Your welcome kid." Saporta looked in a different direction and smiled.

Ryan rotated to see it was Sir Beckett, hands full of music sheets. "Hello there Ryan, is there something you need from Mr.Saporta?"

"He left his wallet," Saporta told.

"So that one is his? Didn't expect that," Sir Beckett said to Saporta. "Oh well, time for us to go. Have a good weekend Ryan!"

"You too Sir Beckett."

Right, so...

Go to Saporta's desk, do not disturb anyone in the music room, grab the wallet and go to the bar at 7 (ask Spence for directions).

Yeah, sounds like a plan.

Ryan walked through the somewhat empty halls marching towards the Music and Spanish teacher's staffroom. Everyone already left except for the janitors. Usually, teachers were the last ones to leave but they already left too so you can see how late it kind of was.

Ryan jumped a bit when he heard someone slamming the keys of the piano from the music room.

_"No, no, calm the fuck down Stump! You can do this! You can do this. Dad is going to be proud. You gotta- I have to at least make him smile!"_

Ryan tried to peek whoever it was ranting through the glass pane of the door though he remembered Saporta's warning so he kept on walking. Then he heard the piano being played slowly, which was very tempting to make him stay and listen, but he managed his way to the staff room anyway, slightly regretting it.

He made his way to Saporta's desk, the one that had a framed photo of himself in a gold plated frame, and searched for any wallets on the table. Through the pencil holders filled with red and blue pens that probably ran dry and also marked essay papers, he found a penny, a password to an email, a crumbled post it but nothing that resembled close to a wallet.

"Where the fuck is it?" Ryan cursed out loud, going to the drawers now. He groaned in frustration when he did not find what he wanted.

Someone cleared their throat so Ryan forced himself to stand up and look at another student who was a bit shorter than himself. The first thing Ryan noticed was his height, the second was that he was wearing a black cotton long sleeved shirt and a pair of leather pants accompanied by the black thick hipster glasses on his face. Ryan wondered how soft and fluffy the guy's hair was.

"Are you looking for something?" Ryan recognised the voice as the same one in the music room. Shit.

"Yeah, I was looking for my wallet, left it in Saporta's class," Ryan explained.

"Then why are you scavenging through Uncle Bill's desk?"

"Who?"

"Sorry, I mean, Mr.Beckett's," the guy explained.

Wait-

"This isn't Saporta's desk?" Ryan asked, pointing to the table. "Then why does it have his face on it?"

The guy laughed. "Like I said, it's Beckett's."

"Why does Sir Beckett have Saporta's photo?" Ryan thought out loud.

"Why do you think they come and leave together? Or share food together? And is always with each other?" The guy asked back, going to the opposite side of where Ryan stood.

Ryan thought hard about what the guy mentioned. They walk home together, they share the same clothes, they were always together- holy shit.

"They're fucking?" Ryan thought, not caring that if the guy could hear it.

The guy who Ryan realised had pretty eyes laughed. The room's temperature went up by a few degrees. Damn, the place couldn't handle two hot people in the same room.

"Seriously, I thought Saporta is the narcissistic bastard who keeps photos of himself on his desk," Ryan said. He must have, Ryan knew he would.

"He does," Fluffy Hair piped. The nerd pulled a drawer from the other table and said; "It's just Gabe keeps them in his drawer so Unc-  _Bill_  won't nag."

Okay, so the guy was a nerd but a cute nerd.

Ryan joined him to stare at the dozens of different photos of Saporta's face that ranged from Instagram selfies to black and white portraits.

Then he looked at the desk where a silver plated framed photo of Sir Beckett smiling was seated. It was cute. Ish. For a couple to do that. But this was Sir Beckett and Saporta. Other than being fucking tall Ryan did not know (and did not want to know) how they managed to hook up.

"You said you left your wallet in the Spanish room?" The guy, hold on, didn't he mentioned his name back in the music room? What was it again?

"Yes?" Ryan didn't mean for it to sound like a question, it just came out that way. His head was still processing for the (cute) nerd's name.

"Gabe mentioned that he placed it somewhere..." What was it again? Bunk? Branch? Tree?

The nerd pushed the Drawer of Narcissism shut and bent to reach for the wooden snake statue Saporta kept near his textbooks. Shit. The nerd also got a nice ass. "I'm sure it's here somewhere, hold on."

"Y-yeah," Ryan stuttered. His name. What the fuck was his name? Star? Stun? Stu- something...

"Ah, found it!"

Stump! His name was Stump! ...that was a weird name. Even for a nerd.

Stump looked at Ryan in the eye for a moment, hand reaching out to give him the wallet. "I don't really know if this is yours by the way."

Ryan didn't pay attention, he grabbed the wallet as he kept on staring at Stump's face. "No, thanks, really!"

"So it's yours?" Stump eyed him suspiciously. "Didn't know you're an MLP fan. What do you call yourselves? Bronies?"

What?

Ryan looked at the pink My Little Pony wallet in his hands, the one with the picture of multicoloured ponies on the plastic cover sewed on the neon pink fabric.

He felt the heat rising to his cheeks.

"Actually I can explain-"

"Nah, it's cool, I mean my uncle and brother are like enthusiasts of that show," Stump paused and laughed again. That was about the second time he heard it and Ryan was sure that his face was red as a tomato.

"Okay, um, so why are you in the staff room, Stump?" Ryan asked, calling the guy by his name. It sounded weird on his tongue.

Stump's eyes widen. "I had to put the keys to the Music room back."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah..." Stump went quiet. "How did you know?"

"About what?"

"You called me Stump. How do you know about my dad?" Stump asked.

Ryan raised both of his hands. "No, I heard you in the music room-"

"You what?!" He exclaimed, eyes darted at him like daggers.

"It's good! I mean, I heard the piano part and it's nice- I didn't hear anything else! Well,  _maybe your rant_  but that's how I know your name! I don't know your dad or stalked you or anything! Promise!" Ryan blurted out.

Stump's look softened. "Oh. Okay."

"Sorry if you're trying to hide it."

"Thank you for being sorry," he muttered, quietly. He then looked at Ryan one more time. "You really don't know my dad?"

"Why the fuck would I-"

"No, nevermind. It's uh, my name's not Stump. But I'll be honoured if someone calls me one."

Okay. Wow. So his name wasn't even Stump? That was a real waste of brain drain.

"So what's your name?"

Fluffy Hair raised a brow. "Why do you want to know, Ryan Ross?"

"Because you know mine?"

Not-Stump laughed. "Everyone knows you, Ross. You're that one kid who is up to something every week."

Before Ryan protested, the nerd's phone rang.

"Yeah, bye." The guy answered his phone. "Hey, Uncle Frank..."

**°•ิ.•ஐஇஇஐ•.•ิ°**

Orange juice poured out of the carton, into the glass. Gerard's eyes were fixated on Frank once he appeared from upstairs, hands expertly poured the Grey Goose the right amount as his husband approached him to sit on the tall wax glossed wooden stool directly in front of him.

"You alright?" Gerard asked, pushing the drink in front of Frank while putting a tiny umbrella to it to add the final touch.

"B's just worried about the show," Frank ran his thumb on the edges of the glass. "I'm worried that he's late."

"Bill allowed him to stay in school a bit longer," Gerard pat the shorter man's head. "Don't worry about it too much. He's Patty's kid."

And if Brendon were to be any more like Patrick, it was the fact that both will be very anxious before any show and think they sucked but they turned out amazing as fuck. Those two were both humble and too dense to see talent. Like father, like son.

"You're right," Frank raised the glass to his lips, eyes fixated on the liquid, "this reminds me of Trick's own first show. When he performed Sugar We're Going Down on the piano."

Gerard smiled. "I heard from Gabe that he was jittery."

"He was shaking so much that the whole piano shook," Frank tipped the glass, downing the whole thing in one shot, "and the whole room shook when he opened that mouth of his."

Gerard grabbed the glass, knowing Frank wouldn't take more than a shot of alcohol, Gerard knew he married a lightweight after all.

"It was a family event," Frank told, looking at the wooden stage which had a piano sat near the corner of the elevated wood. It was where a lot of them had performed. "You know when everyone in the Stump family was still there."

The redhead noticed the sad smile on Frank's face. He was told how close the Stump and Iero family were.

"He was there too," Frank pointed out. No names were said though Gerard knew exactly who he meant. "I just hope  _that_ doesn't happen. If anything I hope there won't be another Pete Wentz to destroy my family's life."

Gerard released a breath. Frank's hatred was totally understandable so Gerard couldn't say that his husband was being overdramatic. He would be like that too if whatever happened to Patrick happened to Mikey. Thank god Ray was an ultimately good person.

"He should've taken responsibility as a husband," Gerard agreed.

"Patrick won't sign the divorce papers yet," Frank rested his head on his hands, looking at Gerard, "there's nothing to convince him. Even after the bastard already got two children from two different sluts."

Gerard smacked Frank's head, making the shorter one visibly wince. "Don't blame it on the wives, blame it on the bastard himself. They don't even know that he married a guy who is five years younger than him."

Frank rubbed the place where Gerard smacked him. "I look forward to the day he'll suffer."

"He will Frankie," Gerard kissed Frank's head, jokingly to make the pain go away. "But talking about him won't make the karma go faster."

"Eh, worth the try," Frank shrugged. "Speaking of Trick, why are you at the bar on a Friday? Shouldn't you be at Closures?"

"Closed early, Pattycakes said sure and I convinced Tyler to stay upstairs," Gerard explained. "Also Cakes is too busy with the kids upstairs. They're too excited and I think Jack mentioned about his habit of singing in the shower?"

"I will literally kill to hear him bring back his old pipes," Frank grinned.

"I think he still has them," Gerard told. His eyes were then downcasted. "Plus, he's still writing songs. About him. There's this one called The 'I' in Lie. The line that it was 'when you're sleeping with your lover but living with your wife'."

"He's never getting over it if it's like this," Frank sighed.

"But it helps him cope. And he has five kids now. It's better than nothing," Gerard said. "Plus, the kids help you to cope too."

"Nothing can replace Declan, Gee. But the children are awesome and I love them for who they are. Especially Bren because he's hyper. Like me."

Gerard laughed at the last bit.

"Yeah, he is."

"Do you think he'll sign soon though?" Frank asked.

"Brings too many memories for Cakes, he'll sing when he's ready," Gerard said. "He's a hell lot stronger than you think."

"Yeah, probably not too strong though," Frank said, eyes on red-faced Patrick being followed by Mike and Jack who in return was trying to be stopped by Tyler and Vic. It still kind of amuses him that Patrick adopted kids who were all taller than him.

"But  _dad_  you're amazing," Jack exclaimed, hands in the air to exaggerate his point.

"No, Jackie, Bassam, sweetheart, I love you but it's been a while since I sang," Patrick said, trying to think of other nicknames to call the youngest.

"But only Jackie has ever heard you sing," Mike said.

"I don't do live performances kids," Patrick told the two. "Not anymore. But I will, in the future. And all of you'll be there on the front seats."

"Dad you can literally sing in the shower and they're going to be happy," Vic told. "Because as a wise man once said..."

"You don't sing in a shower," Mike began.

"You fucking perform," Jack finished. "That wise man is Uncle Gabe by the way."

"Of course it is," Patrick said, tiredly, not even mentioning about the curse word. The colourful vocabulary was widely used by the family who lived above Revenge and Closures.

"I'm assuming that you're going to allow your three other underage kids to watch the show tonight," Frank said as he patted the stool next to him.

"Was 'no' even an option?" Patrick asked as he hopped on the stool too tall for himself with a bit of struggle.

"I guess not," Frank shrugged.

"Knock, knock," someone said from the front door.

"Mikey the First!" Jack announced as Gerard's brother came in from the main entrance.

"Hey there Bassam, how's my favourite nephew doing?" Mikey asked ruffling Jack's hair.

"Dead inside but still full of glitter and imagination," Jack answered in a serious tone as if he was a soldier answering a lieutenant. "How about you?"

"Dead inside but still hella gay so full of pride and rainbows," Mikey answered in the same tone as Jack's.

"The usual then?" Patrick asked, a smile plastered on his face.

"No, something's missing," Mikey answered the shorter man, still sounding very serious.

"Mikey, you forgot-"

"Oh, there he is," Mikey said, cutting off Ray's sentence by placing a kiss on the lips. When they parted Mikey grinned at Patrick. "Yep, still the same."

"Good to know Mikeyway," Frank said. "How's life treating ya?"

"Surprisingly well."

Ray looked around. "Where's Breadbin?"

"RIGHT HERE!" Brendon came through the front door.

Vic frowned. "Be careful going through there," he scolded. There was still a risk of getting caught even in that part of town.

"I know but the door was opened," Brendon justified. His hand clasped on his backpack strap. "And, can I... talk to dad alone for a moment?"

"Go ahead kid," Gerard said.

"Upstairs in the music room?" Patrick asked.

"Yes, please."

**°•ิ.•ஐஇஇஐ•.•ิ°**

When both of them entered the music room upstairs, Brendon threw his backpack to the side, fell into fetal position on the soft carpet and screamed in frustration.

Patrick knew exactly what was going on.

"Dad, I'm scared!" Brendon whined, curling into a ball on the carpet.

"Hey, B, it's not your first show, come on," Patrick reminded, crouching down to the giant ball on the carpet.

"It is my first show with an  _original_  dad!" Brendon yelled back. "It's a lot different!"

"Yeah, I know," Patrick sat down on the floor next to his son who was trying to pretend that he was a millipede because any further and Brendon will curl into a perfect ball.

"What if I mess up?" Brendon asked, eyes not meeting with Patrick's.

"Oh, at some point you will," Patrick told, he pulled Brendon up to make him sit down and face him. "Listen B, no one is perfect. But believe it or not, you're included in that category. On my first show, I pressed the wrong keys three times because I was nervous."

"But what if they don't like my song?" Brendon looked down at the carpet, plucking out some of the threads.

"They will," Patrick said. "Because you are Brendon Boyd Urie, you are my son and you have a story to tell. So those words you've written down must've meaning behind them."

Brendon paused. "Do you think so?"

"I know so." Patrick placed a hand on Brendon's shoulder which was kind of hard since his son was taller. "Hey, B," he called out. "Look at me."

Brendon lifted his head that he hung low upwards, eyes finally meeting with his dad's.

"Listen, I know how it feels. You want it to be perfect and it can go your way but there are times when it won't. And whether that time comes or not, I just want you to know that you're still perfect in my eyes. Okay, Breadbin?"

Brendon laughed heartlessly. "How can you say something like that to a broken person like me?"

"Because I know you. And I can see all the good and bad but I will never want you to be any other way." Patrick pulled Brendon into a hug. "That's why you're perfect okay?"

"Okay," Brendon muttered.

Patrick felt something wet on his shoulder. He parted their hug and saw Brendon full of tears, crying his heart out.

Patrick wondered how long did Brendon wait for someone to say those exact words to him.

"If it makes you feel any better," Patrick stood up and went to their shelves where they kept their vinyl records to go to the box tucked away at the bottom corner. The strawberry blonde grabbed the whole box and placed it on the floor in front of Brendon, creating a small puff of dust. Patrick kneeled, searching through the cardboard box labelled as 'FOB' with black and red crayon.

"Aha!" Patrick took out an old paperback notebook and handed it out to Brendon who was wiping his tears away.

"What's this?" Brendon asked as he flipped through the yellowing pages. Voice kind of heavy after the crying.

"Songs that I wrote when I was in this band during high school," Patrick answered, grinning. "There's four of us but I and this other guy wrote created the music. He had the words, I have the beats and then we give birth to our brainchild. I wish I had Joe's and Andy's notebooks but they kept it before I can stash it away."

Brendon skimmed through the notebook, noticing the two different handwritings and doodles around the title to every song. Some even have tiny notes to indicate chords. Then Brendon stopped at one of the first few pages of the book.

"(S)he says (s)he's no good with words but I'm worse," Brendon read out loud the beginning, adjusting his glasses.

"'Dance, Dance'," Patrick said. "One of the first songs that I wrote. My biggest joy and headache."

_"Cakes! It's almost opening time!"_

Patrick sighed. "Well, I have to go down for a bit. Tell me when you're ready?"

Brendon nodded and read through more of the words for the old book.

Then he found a page which was the odd one out, unlike others, it was as of someone spilt water on it that the pages began to curve unevenly. He noticed the note written on top.

_'Pattycake, my Lunchbox, I hope you realise how awesome you are. Love you.' - PLKW3_

Brendon started reading the lyrics to a song titled 'What A Catch, Donnie'.

**°•ิ.•ஐஇஇஐ•.•ิ°**

Ryan was sure he could be killed in those alleys but according to Spencer, those were the easiest ways for him to  _not_ get caught by anyone from school.

He tried to look as normal as possible - if the definition of normal was wearing heavy black eyeliner and make-up. He was wearing a long-sleeved grey shirt and scarf around his neck with a pair of tight jeans he found somewhere at the deepest part of his closet. Just to top everything off, he wore a black leather jacket which said 'LUCIFER' in a rainbow. He had a good eye for fashion if he said so himself.

In the dim light that oozes through a narrow gap lied  _the_  alleyway. It was the underworld of any town: gloomy and unpleasant. The vines that crawled up window sills and the crumbling plaster that enveloped the old stone bricks appear romantic at first but become daunting after the sun set behind the skyline of chimneys. Darkness was lurking in every corner inside the labyrinth of narrow passages and dead ends. Litter was dumped on the street and birds nest amongst the sprawling rot.

Ryan swore a muffled, indistinct scream was heard from behind him. The street lights flickered off and he was left with nothing but the natural orchestra of the urban night playing its eerie song; cats fighting, glass breaking, shadows that ran at the corner of his eye leaving a swoosh sound and a gust of wind brushing against his cheek.

If he were to die that night, blame Spencer.

Nonetheless, this was  _the_  alleyway, the one that ended with another dark alley that (still) could get him killed (literally) just with a (slightly) lower chance. He turned right on this one. This other alleyway wasn't like the last; there were houses lined up and more than a few abandoned buildings across the large stone wall. This was the bad part of town.

Terraced, wrought iron balconies, cobbled yard, lattice windows, long high window, facade of brickwork, bungalow, little more than a shack, cottage, grimy, Victorian brick, attic storey, round windows, unadorned, hovel, peeling paint, newly painted, drawn curtains, street lamps, hanging basket, smoke-blackened brick, grime-encrusted, railing fence, red brick, honey yellow brick, two storey, three storey, maybe go as far as five.

Ryan corrected himself; this was the  _horrible_ part of town yet somehow it was unique. Something that would probably pique Kellin's interest.

The tall metal streetlamps cast an artificial glow onto the streets below, arranged side by side with the seemingly endless stone wall that was heavily vandalised with spray graffiti. Ryan kept his hands in his pockets, looking down at his shoes. His heart was pounding against his chest. What did you expect?

He walked endless mazes of dirty dark alleys where he was most likely to get killed and now he was in the worst part of the lovely town that he never knew existed just to find a bar because it was a Friday night and he wanted to get drunk.

Ryan lifted his head up when he saw a neon pink light glowing in front of his shoe. There was a vintage café, closed as the sign on the door had indicated, named Coffee's for Closures. Next to it was what he was looking for.

Pink neon sign glowed above his head. 'Sweet Revenge' it said.

"You Ross?" There was a man on the steps. A young man at the door had a hank of dirty blonde hair. "Heard about you from Spencer, name's Shane. I'm your cover. Pretend to be my date tonight and you'll go right in."

Ryan eyed the guy. Cute but not his type. He didn't object about the cover though since he really wanted to get drunk that night.

He rested his hand on the rough paintwork that coated the door and push. Rough wooden splinters cut into his palm; shards of black paint crumble to the floor. The hinges squealed as though they were a warning, but their plea was silenced by a wall of noise. Laughter overpowered the jukebox tucked away nicely at the corner of the room. Conversations swirled in a dirty cloud of smoke, the stagnant stench of cigarettes hid within the collaboration of mephitic odours. A sharp smell of drink wafted towards him, like black plumes billowing from the windows of a burning house. There was even a hint of sick tainting the fragrance of the room.

Shane followed soon after he went in. The young man led Ryan to sit next to him on the stool.

The bar was filled with hundreds of conversations told in loud voices, all of them competing with the rock music that dominates the lively atmosphere.

"Halsey!" Shane called the lady with a blue pixie cut who was off talking to another man with alarmingly red hair. The woman glanced for a second before she spoke something to the man again and nodded. There were a few more exchanges before the red-haired man went off and Halsey went towards them.

"Hello Shane," Halsey said, pursing her lips. She wasn't impressed at all at whatever Shane had to show her.

"Everything alright with Gerard? How is his family?" Shane asked.

"None of your business. Tonight's a special night and I don't want you to ruin it," Halsey's eyes narrowed, "It'll be the best if you leave quickly."

"Oh, come on Halsey, I'm just going out to have fun," Shane pointed out.

"Then it's best to behave," Halsey spat. Her eyes then landed on Ryan. "And who's this fella?"

Shane grinned, wrapping his hand around Ryan's waist, bringing him close. "This is my boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?" Halsey repeated, not convinced or impressed.

"You got a problem?"

"My boss is married to another man if anything I should pity this boyfriend of yours for landing himself with a man who couldn't even think straight," Halsey hissed. "Now tell me your order and get out before I call Bryar to kick your ass out."

"Is this about last time?" Shane whined, letting Ryan go. "In my defence, it's not my fault that I am irresistible."

"You flirted with my boss' nephew."

"He's hot!"

"He's a fucking minor and you openly asked him for a blowjob," Halsey spat. "You're lucky you made it out alive."

"Whatever, get me two beers," Shane ordered.

Halsey gave another threatening glare and went to work.

Ryan, on the other hand, processed the progress. He looked at Shane who was eyeing at Halsey's ass as she worked, taking other customers' orders. That alone should hoist a red flag. "You actually asked a minor for a blowjob? Do you do this often?"

"What? Sneaking in minors? No," Spencer said. "But Smith owed me one so I had to help. Also, believe it or not, this place is always opened the door for kids around your age."

"Then why did you even bother giving me a fake ID?" Ryan asked. The total embarrassment he faced didn't really go away. He scooted away from the older young man when he saw Shane's back straightening.

"The kids here own the bar, more or less, it's their family's," Shane explained. Oh, okay. He gestured to the stage across the other side of the room. "You see that there? That's where the bar owner's nephews perform. They're good too. One of the reasons people kept coming."

"And you, on impulse, asked one of them for a blowjob?" Ryan questioned.

"One, he's hot. Two, he's in a fucking bar, of course, I assumed he's a slut."

Ryan saw Halsey arrived with two large mugs of beer. "You disgust me."

"Eh, not my first time hearing that."

When the beer arrived, Ryan recklessly chugged everything in one go - Halsey wasn't even able to say a word before he drank everything. He drank before, he fucking knew that he wasn't a lightweight. That was why he came to the bar: to get drunk.

When he slammed the glass mug on the countertop, he saw the shocked faces of both Halsey and Shane.

Ryan grinned and ordered another one.

**°•ิ.•ஐஇஇஐ•.•ิ°**

Every single minute passed closer to Brendon's performance. His family was already outside, waiting. Brendon could see Vic in his baby blue skirt, tugging it down every now and then - he still wasn't used to going out in public looking like a girl.

At least Brendon knew that he wasn't the only one nervous that night. It gave him some kind of relief.

"A bit nervous B?" Dad asked, going out from the door behind him.

"Like a lot," Brendon corrected, eye analysing the crowd he had that night; his line of sight first caught his siblings, Vic trying to get used to the skirt, Jack trying to convince him that he (Vic) looked pretty and Mike scaring off everyone who was staring; Uncle Frank and Uncle Gee were discussing about something with Uncle Mike and Uncle Ray - probably just trying to catch up with each other's lives. There was a huge amount of customers - more than what they usually have but it was a Friday night after all.

"Come out when you're ready okay?" Dad said, kissing his large forehead. "No rush, alright? Don't force yourself."

It was weird that his dad knew all the words he wanted to hear.

"Okay...dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Just a daily reminder that I love you." Then he went, going out from his hiding place and into the light.

Brendon knew what was waiting for him on the stage: the grand structure moulded to the centre left of the stage; all shiny, pitch black until the user lifted the fall. The row of pure ivory keys marched into view as he got closer. They shimmered in the sparkling stage light as if they were the moon on a starry night; bright, beautiful, and breath-taking. And the sound it would create-  the music it sang, stirring wonders in every single soul present. It was a beautiful structure that stood centre left stage, in physic and on purpose.

Along the wood that lines the top of each key, curling golden letters spell 'Steinway & Sons' a beautiful name, elegant and expensive. Perfect, and graceful. Unlike Brendon who was broken and the whole opposite of its being. That was why he preferred playing the piano - opposites attract and he knew for every horrible quality he owned, it would go away once he sat on the chair.

Deep breath. The crowd went silent. Mic screeched. Last glance. Dad was there. Everyone was there. Eyes all on him. All the attention directed towards him. A spotlight was shone in his direction. This was the moment.

"When I was fourteen," Brendon started, talking into the mic, "Someone taught me how music saved lives. This one is called This Is Gospel."

His hands moved and started playing.

_"This is gospel for the fallen ones,_   
_Locked away in permanent slumber._   
_Assembling their philosophies,_   
_From pieces of broken memories."_

**°•ิ.•ஐஇஇஐ•.•ิ°**

The smoke twisted in its artistic way, forming curls in the gloom, illuminated only by the age-speckled bar lights. Along the wall was every hue of amber liquid in their inverted bottles; every vice that Ryan was ordered by Spencer to avoid.

Beers weren't enough so he levelled up.

Ryan leaned on the bar, lolling his head to one side, pushing out his pink lips just a little. He wasn't drunk yet but he liked to give the impression that he was. That wasn't normal, even in Ryan's standards - he wasn't as think as you drunk he was.

Okay, he was a bit tipsy. Just a bit.

"How'd you and Smith meet?" Shane asked, watching him down another one.

"I thought you won't allow yourself to get attached to clients," Ryan muttered, swirling his glass.

"And I told you that I don't do this often."

Ryan looked at the stick in between his fingers. How much did he smoke? How much did he drink?

He gazed at the swirling liquor. When did he pour another one?

"Tell me,  _Ryan,_ " Shane was getting closer, his voice was like a purr. It was disgusting, Ryan didn't need to be sober to know that. "Are you seeing anyone at the moment?"

"No," Ryan told. "But I have my eyes on someone."

"Oh?"

His mind was filled with the nerd he met while retrieving that humiliating wallet. That fucking dorky, cute, great ass nerd with his stupidly big hipster glasses that he would probably look good without. Ryan remembered the face again - yeah, he was definitely good without.

"Weirdly enough, I never caught his name," Ryan said. "He's cute though if I ever had to admit. I thought his name was Stump, turns out I was wrong."

"Stump?" Shane parroted.

"Weird name, I know."

"No, it's, where have you heard that name before?" Shane was persistent. Ryan stared at him. Why were a lot of people, actually only two, curious about whatever Stump was?

"Not important. I'm in a band."

"What?"

"You asked how I met Spence, we're friends and we made a band; Pet Salamander. Then his boyfriend joined in and we changed it to The Young Veins." Ryan drank a whole glass of liquor once again like he did countless times before.

"Seriously, how'd you met Stump?" Man, this guy was an asshole and persistent.

"I don't know anyone by the name," Ryan said, honest. "But why are you so curious about a weird name?"

"Stump works here. And he's the dad to a guy I flirted with. He's also Bryar's ex-roommate and current friend so I'll be careful if anyone goes by that last name."

"Bryar? As in, the guy who's leading the underground gang, Bryar? I thought he's just a myth."

Shane laughed. "You've either been too pampered in the good side of town or you're just fucking stupid. Bryar is real and he's family to this damn bar. So if I were you, stay away from whoever you have eyes on."

"His name is not Stump though," Ryan interjected.

"Your death not mine," Shane said, tipping the mouth of his beer bottle towards Ryan. "Good luck with that band yours though. You sing?"

"Not that good though I guess the story behind what we wrote is more important." Ryan couldn't sing for shit. He could sing like anyone could but he just didn't have  _the voice_. That wasn't even a reference - the first time he heard anyone with real vocals, it was from his mother; before she left, of course; when she showed him a CD from no band in particular but the singer was so good that he was sure one day they would make it big.

He asked about it many times when he was a kid and mom said it was Pete Wentz. Har, har, very funny. Wentz had a different vocal set though, Ryan thought, it was because of Wentz that he prioritised his lyrics more than his voice.

"And if you think you can seduce me or some shit then you have another thing coming," Ryan spat. "We are never going to see each other ever again."

"Eh, worth the try," Shane shrugged. "But, seriously, good luck with your band."

"And seriously, I don't want to see you ever again. I can't even sing for shit, so I can't offer good music."

"Oh really? With Wentz on the rise and stuff, what do you define good music?"

"Well-" Ryan stopped when he heard a familiar voice. The same voice from- from where again?

"When I was fourteen, someone taught me how music saved lives. This one is called This Is Gospel."

Ryan looked around for the source of the voice, then he saw him. The fucking cute nerd. On the stage.

He didn't know what happened first or next; piano keys, deep breath but then the voice.

"This is gospel for the fallen ones  
Locked away in permanent slumber  
Assembling their philosophies  
From pieces of broken memories."

" _That_ ," Ryan breathed, he didn't turn his head to look at Shane, eyes still on the cute nerd who had fluffy hair and large forehead -- well, those glasses were kinda hot too, now he taught about it.

_"The gnashing teeth and criminal tongues conspire against the odds_   
_But they haven't seen the best of us yet..."_

Ryan got off his seat, trying to get closer to the stage. The harsh scent of drink could be smelt of his person. He knew it, and so does everyone one else in the whole room. They could see him struggling to keep his balance, and he knew he was struggling to keep it.

_"If you love me let me go,_   
_If you love me let me go."_

Ryan's breath stopped when he heard the nerd's voice went to a high note - did that made sense? It didn't make sense to him.

_"Cause' these words are knives that often leave scars._   
_The fear of falling apart._   
_And truth be told, I never was yours_   
_The fear, the fear of falling apart..."_

Holy fuck. Where did Fluffy Hair keep all of that oxygen? Did he have two lungs or something?

_"This is gospel for the vagabonds,_   
_Ne'er-do-wells, insufferable bastards_   
_Confessing their apostasies_   
_Led away by imperfect impostors."_

It was like some sort of outer body experience. His legs didn't work as I tell them. Neither do his hands. Or his fingers. Somewhere, deep inside he knew his brain was sending signals telling him what to do.

Whether or not his body was listening was a different story.

_"Don't try to sleep through the end of the world,_   
_Bury me alive,_   
_'Cause I won't give up without a fight."_

"Ryan?" He heard someone called him. He didn't like that voice. It sounded like Sir Beckett's.

"Bill, what's wrong?" Shit, that sounded like Saporta.

"Gabe- isn't that Ryan?"

"What the fuc-"

_"If you love me let me go,_   
_If you love me let me go_   
_'Cause these words are knives that often leave scars."_

Ryan can feel his body moving. He could feel it doing what it wanted. Could he stop it?

Everyone knew the answer to that. It was doing as it pleased.

He tried to walk down towards the stage - passing through people who stared and bumped into some tables - but his legs were telling him otherwise. They were swaying – left and right. No matter how many steps he took he was no closer to where he wanted to be.

_"The fear of falling apart._   
_And truth be told, I never was yours_   
_The fear, the fear of falling apart"_

"Ross?"

Ryan felt a hand on his wrist. He turned around to see Victor Fuentes in a skirt. We would talk about his weird punchable face later - man, he was probably that drunk if he saw Victor Fuentes in a fucking skirt. It was weirder when he realised Fuentes actually looked in it.

"What are you doing here?"

_"Oh, the fear of falling apart_   
_Oh, the fear, the fear of falling apart..."_

Ryan broke Fuentes grip, running to the stage, his eyes never left the nerd.

"Hey, you!" Ryan screamed. Was he loud? Was he quiet?

The nerd looked startled, he actually got off his seat and got closer to where Ryan was standing. Was Ryan standing or- His legs gave out, he fell over. That was funny. Ryan giggled.

He looked up, his body was on the floor. The nerd's face- wait, oh right! He didn't get his name yet!

"You weren't supposed to be here," the nerd said.

Ryan giggled more. "I know!" His hand reached out to touch the nerd's face. His skin was soft, like really soft, like baby blanket soft. "You're cute you know that?" Ryan pulled the nerd's face closer to his. "I never caught your name though?"

The guy hesitated. "It's Brendon. Brendon Boyd Stump-Urie."

Ryan laughed more. "Brendon? Your name is weeeeiirrdd!" Ryan felt his body wasn't on the floor- wait, his body was on the floor? Why do things touch the floor? "I wanna call you something else!"

"Okay, you can do that," Brendon said.

"YOU'RE CUTE!" Ryan wrapped his arms around Brendon's neck. Then he stared at his hair. "You're cute and your hair is fluffy! You're like that thing in Jon and Spence's favourite shitty superhero show!" 

"Oh, Marvel or DC?"

"LET ME THINK!" Ryan screamed. "That's right! BEEBO! IM GOING TO CALL YOU BEEBO FROM NOW ON!"

"What-?"

Ryan latched himself on Beebo - those were soft looking lips. Were they though? Time to find out!

He full on pulled Beebo's collar and the next thing he knew, he had slammed his lips to the slightly shorter boy and nearly knocked all wind from their lungs. Beebo hardly had a moment to react before Ryan pressed his tongue to the seam of the other's lips and delved inside his mouth.

It was a very sloppy kiss with the strong scent of old wine and probably cheap beer being exchanged in the intermingling. He pressed Beebo from the back of his head and deepen their kiss when he felt they were pulling apart.

Beebo tasted sweet.

Then all went black.

**Author's Note:**

> I know my grammar sucks. And all of this doesn't make any sense. But it's okay!
> 
> I'll try to pave a path for like 8 of my books for this to make sense....


End file.
